Chicken Little
by Spawn Guy
Summary: How to really ruffle a Robin's feathers.


**Chicken Little**

DC beat me to owning these characters.Takes place before War Games and Identity Crisis for reasons that will become apparent.

---

"What?"

Sparks danced under Robin's insulated boots, metallic entrails coiled around him like an avalanche of paper clips as the robot spasmed, falling as still as a disused coffee machine.

Superboy shrugged.

"Just saying."

Raven eyebrows still bunched together under black mask fabric, Robin stared.

"Yeah…but why _that_?"

Behind them Gizmo swore, somehow forgetting after a lifetime of experience that kicking the guy made out of metal in the ankle _hurt_. Robin flashed over a brief glance, not as fast as Bart, then stuck back on the red and dark shield over the neo kryptonian's chest. Broadening shoulders were shrugged in the face of the Boy Wonder's questioning stare. Thank God he'd turned his tactile telekinesis off or whatever metas did to avoid blowing apart the vicinity and the friends in it.

"Well…compared to the kindergarten starter set, yeah you kinda are. Everyone is."

Robin relaxed.

"But…"

"Oh come on!"

Conner raised his hands.

"Just saying."

Robin turned away to look out over the view from the Golden Gate bridge, telling himself it was just overlooking on the make-do salvage operation the patrol boats had put together through Cassie and Starfire's muscles, partly to clear the bay of helicopter and robot wreckage as fast as possible and mostly so they wouldn't have to do it later. That and muscular women getting wet, nuff said. Apart from the cape moving lazily in the afternoon breeze he was totally still in that Gotham gargoyle crouch kind of way.

Conner looked around, debating in a kind of red hot panic weather to talk to his friend ( _not _apologise) or haul up some robot corpses and…do what? Why couldn't he be more like Clark? Clark didn't say dumb stuff like that. Clark never did anything dumb except tell Ma he didn't want anymore to eat. He never ticked off other heroes. Then again, did it really take that much to tick off one of the Batclan? Apart from Tim, wasn't the entire point of the Batclan to have some kind of issue? Maybe this _was_ Tim's issue. If so, that was kind of a bit much to get hung up on, right? Clark would never get into this kind of thing, something this awkward.

He hated this. Trying to break the silence without breaking it. He was about to say something when the cape whirled around, filling his vision with the largest red breast on the planet.

"I've got about a foot on Bart."

"Yeah, but Bart hunches. All speedsters do. Adrenaline or something. Nothing straight about them unless their running."

He couldn't hold back the snicker. Robin's glare could have started a forest fire.

"Real mature."

"Well…their colour scheme is a little…fruity…"

"Jay Garrick."

Superboy stared after his friend as he stalked, actually physically stalked, past the two officers giving him the _So if the guy in the bird costume is real, is the guy in the you-know-what costume real? _look.

"That was…that was just cruel. Like…Darkseid cruel."

---

Something started ringing.

Barbara Gordon's eyes darted here and there like flies trapped beneath her glasses, techno savvy eyes trying to determine which of her many systems was experiencing a malfunction, potentially leading to a nation wide black out if it wasn't found _now_.

Okay, maybe tapping off various sources such as Gotham Gas and Power to Keystone Electric and everything in between wasn't exactly what B would deem ethical, but acting as the all seeing Oracle didn't come anywhere near cheap, cutting edge Battech or not.

The crisis was averted upon the discovery that it was her cell phone. She looked at it in her hand, a god from the next century taking in the work of a caveman. After gauging that she remembered how to operate low grade communication tech, she answered the call.

"Planet Cybertron, Optimus Prime speaking."

"_Wh-huh? Barbara? Uh…is everything okay? Or okay enough for me to ask a question?"_

Young, confused, enquiring…who else?

"Hey High Flyer."

She couldn't be sure he was out of costume, or being monitored on an system outside the caves firewalls, and it'd annoy the boss that she went and invented new field names behind his cowled back.

"_You up all night coming up with that?"_

Sense of humour. Robin requirement/survival aid number one. Prowling the night in Christmas colours, what else were you going to do other than dodge bullets?

"This morning as a matter of fact. What's up other than you? Big enough to call me during _work hours_?"

She had to coordinate the Birds on an Interpol case where metas or masks would in no way be welcome, John Henry Irons would be uploading the latest Brainiac tech analysis that could hopefully be put to better use in the Watchtower, who's current staff, mainly the last surviving Martian, eagerly awaited the analysis of the latest version of the Injustice Gang and just what the hell they wanted from the galaxy next door. The words deserved the stress.

"_Just realized I needed to call you about those __**rare books.**__"_

Mafia ledgers from before the days of the dons before the Roman, long thought lost and depriving the FBI of it's favourite wet dream, until a lackey of one Oswald Cobbelpot stumbled across a codebook in raiding his long dead grandfather's attic for something worthy in an underground pawn brokers beady, and often scarred eyes. Said code book had deciphered many old world sayings, subtly hidden in many of Gotham's seedier establishments and ,in almost a homage to Nicholas Cage's National Treasure, formed a trail leading right to the location of said ledgers.

"_Would have called earlier using the usual means, but it turned out I had more company than I thought. My other phone had an accident during the party."_

Naturally, since this book became a desperately guarded secret, every back alley higher up in Gotham new about it within a week, turning a simple hunt for something in hunting something else to a possible marathon, motivated by lots and lots of bullets.

"Anyone we know?"

"_That nice Adelina family, and a doctors Crane and Strange."_

Red eyebrows went up, a mixture of impressed and slightly dumbfounded. The mob, Hugo Strange and Scarecrow? While the Boy Wonder scored major points for speed, she would have thought the case would have attracted more meta attention than that. The Riddler even.

"So you need a new phone, no problem. How about you?"

"_I'm doing good. Clothing got in the way and I'm a better dancer than these guys. Not bad for a guy jet lagged from a trip to San Fran, huh?"_

He was enjoying this, she could tell. And given the amount of data she'd be able to upload in her databanks soon he could be forgiven for the usual method of contacting the unusual.

"Not at all kid. Thanks for the heads up."

"_No problem."_

There was silence on the other end for a while. She took that as her cue, freezing like Victor Freeze himself when the voice came again.

"_Barbara?"_

"Yeah?"

"_Uh…how long have we worked together?"_

She raised her eyebrows again. For someone who had contact with the master plans of a guy obsessed with riddles, that was the strangest question she'd ever been asked. By someone almost old enough to vote anyway.

" Pretty much since you got the job…why?"

"_Would uh, you say I'm…"_

A beeping as sharp and sudden as one of Zaz's knives cut through the line, falling silent with the exact same speed. Barbara stared at the blank face of the powerless phone, shrugged, and went back to hacking into Interpol's records.

---

Cassandra Cain tensed, bent with almost inhuman grace and durability, slammed both hands off the training mat with force an onlooker would swear to God himself had shattered her bones, thrusting limbs through solid air as they could slice thin strips out of it. The green fuzz of the inactive holographic training field washed around her, dancing in her focused eyes as it twisted this way and that at each strike.

She breathed, relaxing as she had be taught by, among others, Batman and walked over as Robin unfolded himself form the depths of the computer.

"Found the glitch. Circuit kept breaking and preventing you from turning up the simulator difficulty, but I just amputated your monitoring system and installed a new and improved version of your Real Time generators courtesy of Wayne enterprises."

He met her blank face.

"It's fixed now."

She smiled and nodded, amping the combat to level delta and returning to the mat.

It took her seven minutes of intense combat resulting in the near defeat of Simulation 790D, _full scale riot at the Slab_, that she realized Robin was still standing there.

"Cass?"

She turned.

"Would you…"

A holo Deathstroke loomed out of the pale green reality surrounding the mat. Cassie thrust a steel bar stiff fist in the direction of his groin without turning round, expression curious.

Robin's eyes stayed on her hand even after she lowered it.

"You know what, you don't need this. See ya on patrol tomorrow night."

She returned his wave, watching him ride the Redbird out of the cave. She idly wondered why his body language had been so rigid as if trying to push his spine up by a few more inches, then tuned up to level omega difficulty just for kicks. She tied both arms behind her back, so she got plenty of them in.

---

"So are we still okay for tonight?"

Stephanie Brown waited, then tapped the skull next to hers. No reaction whatsoever.

"Tim!"

The high pitched wine of the Wouldbegirlriendis breached the heavy atmosphere of Planet Drake.

"Huh?"

"The protégée of the world's greatest detective. Ever alert." Stephanie stood hands on hips, arms taunt in a way that suggest Spoiler's handbag of tricks wouldn't be missed right now.

"Sorry, just had a rough day with the Titans."

Her expression softened.

"Yeah, I saw on the news. You okay?"

He shrugged.

"As much as the next hero."

He looked off down the avenue, trees and windows a bright yet dirty orange in the typical Gotham sunset, then smiled.

"So, since I'm back early…" He leant in closer.

Stephanie smiled wide and pearly white.

"Yyyyyeah?"

"I was thinking…" He stopped, turned his head to the side slightly to confirm what he thought he'd seen reflected in a window. He cursed. He hadn't been wrong. The signal glared down from the sky, wings hellfire red as Gotham witching hour truly began to set in.

The beeper form hell.

"Steph…"

A pianists finger darted to his lips.

"Duty calls you, trig quiz first thing tomorrow calls me. Night."

Smiling, she stepped the rest of the way into her house, leaving behind a half satisfied, half annoyed boyfriend. Or rather the space where one had been. Robin was already on the top of a building several blocks away and climbing fast.

---

"Excuse me Master Tim?"

Alfred Pennyworth paused, duster poised over the Batcomputer screen like a sadistic snake playing with a field mouse. An unmasked Tim Drake stood still at the bottom step of the cave access for a minute, then shook his head.

"Forget it. I'm just…uh…going home."

Alfred folded the duster away in typical mystic butler fashion, subtly gliding towards the tray that still supported two cups of untouched but still hot coco and an assortment of biscuits ordered from Britain on line.

"You wish to ask me something?"

"Is uh…is Bruce back?"

"Master Bruce is engaged in some secretive business with a terrorist cell possibly connected to Ra's Al Ghul, obsessively to prevent mass genocide but mainly I suspect to avoid the annual "Adopt A Parakeet" charity ball this month." Alfred sniffed. "Can't say I blame the man."

"Oh."

Tim was still, cape piled around his feet atop the first step like a timid puppy. He took a breath.

"Alfred would you say I'm…"

A bat screeched overhead, a black and hairy arrow from hell landing on Alfred's serving tray.

"Shoo, you wretched creature, shoo!"

Tim looked at the odd puppet theatre meets WWF tableau that followed.

"Yeah…I'm gonna go home."

---

"I'm not hungry!"

Lois Lane rolled her eyes, Conner abysmally failing to hide a smile as their glances met across the table. Jonathan didn't even make the suggestion of moving, but the way he _did not _make eye contact told them both he was making more effort not to laugh than they were.

"Clark, you and Lois have been eating out in Metropolis for days." Martha Kent's glare matched her son's, powerful even if bereft of heat vision. "Your not trying to break down Intergang's new inner circle anymore, meaning you deserve to take the time off here, with hot and cold running water, fresh air and _decent_ food. Now eat your chocolate cake."

"Ma, I'm _fine_." Clark whined, but a slight edge to his voice suggested he was taking her point.

"I'll eat it." Jonathan and Conner said simultaneously. They glared at one another, then at Clark. He narrowed his eyes behind his glasses, snatching up his fork and positioning it in a way that left his arm between them and the plate. Thus war was declared.

Victory, however, was snapped up by a fourth party.

"Oh no…" Clark breathed, ears resounding with the sound of rushing air.

A bolt of white burst through the kitchen door, solidifying into a panting mass of fur, eyeing the chocolate cake. Clark waved a desperate hand in the face of a tail wagging faster than a speeding bullet, trying to put out the fire in hungry eyes.

"No scraps!"

Fast but surreally daintily, Krypto's jaw clamped around the rim of the plate, disappearing in a burst of super speed along with the dessert.

"Hey, that's mine!"

"Thought you didn't want any." Martha smiled innocently.

Clark was already gone, a dark streak in the night sky trying to intercept Krypto's own white blur as the mutt went air borne. Conner lent back in his chair, closing his eyes in defeat.

_Wonder if Tim has days like this. Probably not. I'm guessing he dosen't eat in the cave. _

A thud from upstairs, and what an experienced hero knew just had to be breaking glass.

"Krypto!"

_Or own a flying dog. _

---

"Okay, what is it?"

Tim looked up from his pork chops. Jack Drake, plate bare, looked at him from a reclining position worthy of an off duty king, or one of those snooty cats Catwoman always had in her apartment. Dana Winters looked form one to the other, fork hovering over her salad.

"Nothing."

"Uh huh." Jack said flatly.

Tim was quite for a while. His knife and fork were finally put to the side with a defeated sigh.

"What's the problem?"

Jack's tone was softer. Tim licked his lips, not for any real reason than that they were suddenly dry, looking straight into his father's eyes because it was easier than staring at a lump of dead meat.

"Y'know the weekend school?"

"The one Bruce sponsored you for? Yeah. Is it too much?"

Tim shook his head quickly.

"No, no more than regular school actually."

That wasn't a lie. Slade Wilson vs. quadratic equations? Quadratic equations, baby.

"It's just…one of the guys there called me…"

He paused, mind drifting back to the bridge, the words "Good work…"followed by…

"…shorty."

Silence.

"Dad…am I short?"

More silence.

"Tim…how often do you work out?"

"Huh?"

"Exercise. Run or lift weights or something?"

_Every night of my life since I hit fifteen because it's the one thing between me and a crowbar to the back of the head._

"Now and then." He kept his shoulders from shaking as he shrugged.

"So your in pretty good shape? Considering?"

Tim decided not to wonder what there was to consider.

"Yeah?"

"You read any good books lately?"

_Is he running out of ideas or something?_

"I starting rereading Sherlock Holmes again…"

"From the beginning?"

"Duh."

Tim pulled an apologetic face at the sterner twist of his father's features.

"So…"

Jack lent back further in his chair, looking up as if reading a script off the ceiling.

"…your smart, your in good shape, you have friends and family that love you…"

His gaze came back down to look his son fully in the eye.

"I'm waiting for the part where any of that makes being a late bloomer bad."

Dana looked between the two, head darting back and forth like a tennis ball as Tim's eyes went wide.

"Late bloomer?"

"Hell yeah, your sixteen. Practically every guy in our family was pretty small even for a baby. It's just something you grow out of. Your grandfather was Godzilla by the time he was twenty nine. Me? I was a freaking dwarf until, what, thirty? And your bigger than I was at sixteen, so I don't see the problem."

Tim smiled, biting thoughtfully into a slab of pork chop, then picked up the pace. Jack smiled as knife and fork were placed on the sauce covered plate.

"I'll be back to help with the dishes in a second. Got to go make a phone call."

Tim's face was grimly triumphant as he…stalked(?)…out into the hall and towards the phone.

Jack smiled at a confused Dana.

"Girl problems."

---

"I'll get it!" Lois chirruped in a bird like shriek of survival.

"Like hell!" Conner hissed, unfolding out of his chair like an angry bull out of a gate.

"Language." Jonathan and Martha commented lazily from their dining chairs, watching two blurs form a miniature Saturn ring in a mad chase in the Kansas night sky.

Conner floated an inch off the ground, allowing that to glide him out into the hall, snatching the ringing phone in triumph.

"Yello?"

Lois mouthed the word "Cheater!" , storming off into the living room like a remote searching typhoon. Outside a surprised bark echoed through the night.

"_Dad says I'm not short."_

Conner blinked.

"Tim?"

"_Who else calls you?"_

"Shut up." Conner scowled. Then his face lit up.

"So…are we back on speaking terms?"

"_Batman."_

"What?"

Was that near Luthor level psycho monitoring the phone lines of elderly farming couples now? Actually why not? Aliens did live among them out here after all.

"_I don't wanna bring this up…but you remember that…other time line? The one after that thing with the Legion?"_

Conner scowled again, unclenching a steel hard grip before he shattered the phone, trying not to think what that bastard with his face and Clark's symbol had done with that same grip to peoples heads.

"I try not to, but I know what your talking about. The Nazi League of America back to prove how awesome the Titans are after we kick them out of Poland?"

"_No, but you know_ _what I did there…what I was like…"_

"What _Batman _was like." He hated when friends thought bad of themselves. He'd been there, it wasn't fun.

"_That wasn't Batman."_

Conner smiled at the conviction pounding through the phone line.

"Right, he was an asshole, what's he got to do with this?"

"_Remember what he looked like?"_

Conner frowned, more at the line of questioning than the sight of his brother ( or whatever Clark was meant to be to him other than a DNA source) dancing past the window, a floating Krypto diving at the plate firmly in his hands, excited jaws snapping at the slightly dishevelled cake atop it.

"Uh…like Batman. Dark, scowly, about as tall as me…"

He stopped dead for a full five minutes.

"_Told you I wasn't short."_

"_That's _what this is about? All I said was "Good work shorty"! It was a compliment!"

"_And I told you I wasn't short."_

"No you didn't. You threw a Bat fit and left."

"_A what?"_

"That's when, like, a hero gets all bitchy with other heroes and leaves the room, you know, like your boss does all the time. And if he scares that out of you, you didn't get it from me."

For a heartbeat he wondered if he had overstepped his boundaries, the line quiet in his hand.

"_I thought that was being a weed in the garden."  
_

"Nah, that's for Guy Gardener."

"_Duh, I meant I thought that was what everyone called it when other heroes do that. Because Gardner does it in every team he's on."_

"I think that's growing a carrot. So…we over this?"

Silence. The kind of sadistic Batman I'm going to drag this out and watch you cry like a little prepubescent girl silence. Then a snicker.

"_Yeah, totally worth watching you go Beetle Blue all over it."_

"I did not go Beetle Blue! And that's not embarrassed, that's when your overenthusiastic to help!"

"_You totally went Beetle Blue! And it's when your hung up over something! I got picked on for being the smallest kid in the class when I was in grade school, what's your excuse?"_

"I don't need an excuse! Anyway, remember that one time you called Bart indifferent and he thought you meant he was gay? Back before he read every book in the damn library at super speed? You were totally Beetle Blue _and_ activated your Super Guilt powers!"

Conner leant against the wall, grinning wide enough to freak the chessure cat out.

"Yeah okay, I made that up, but that should totally be one of my things! Yes it should! Huh? No, no, that's when you go all deep and get that beetle brow like J'onn does. I think Boosting the math is when you can't work something out. Nobody thinks Booster Gold is dumb, he just takes his time, y'know?"

Jonathan smiled at Martha as Clark tumbled over the grass, Krypto licking madly at his face in a desperate attempt to reach the chocolate smeared across it.

"Girl problems."

"He really shouldn't hunch over so much."


End file.
